Chapter Thirty
Today is the day. Our third and final regional band competition, and our last chance to qualify for state. I’m so nervous that I wake up nauseous, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to stay that way for the rest of the day.
I finish the final touches on my French braid and check myself out in the bathroom mirror at the house.
The guard decided to wear green satin bows in our braids for this competition, and I want mine to be pristine.
Downstairs, I can hear dishes clinking and hushed voices as my parents get ready.
Mom, Dad, and Kelsey are driving to the competition even though this one is close to two hours away.
I’m sure I’ll find them in their band T-shirts with matching buttons, face paint, and pom-poms at the ready.
“Ooh, I love your bow,” Kelsey says when I walk into the kitchen. “Can you do my hair the same way?”
“Uh, sure,” I reply, a bit surprised she cares. “I have an extra ribbon I can use.” I pull a hair tie from my wrist where I always keep extras and run my fingers through her curls to separate them into thirds.
“Does Max like ribbons?” she asks over her shoulder.
Ah, there it is. Now I see why she’s interested in my hairstyle.
“I’ve never asked him about his opinions on ribbons.”
“How are you feeling about today?” Mom asks, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. She’s dressed as the quintessential marching band parent, just as I expected her to be.
“Great,” I reply, trying to exude confidence. “The guard has really come together over the last month, so I’m feeling good.”
Dad nods over his mug. “You’ve put in the work and now you get to enjoy the benefits. You can go out there and just have fun.”
The briefest hint of annoyance flickers across Mom’s face. Honestly, I kind of feel the same. I wish that going out and “having fun” was enough for me, but it’s not. I’ve had too many years growing up in this house for fun to be my goal.
“Now is the time to really go after it,” Mom adds. “You can relax tomorrow. Winners never let up.”
“She’s already done so much, Lauren,” Dad says reproachfully.
“I know,” she tells us both. “I’d just hate for you to have regrets, especially with band awards around the corner. I know how much all this means to you.”
My eyes drift toward the living room bookshelf where both Mom and Dad display their band awards from high school and college.
They were so happy to add my freshman award to the shelf.
They pushed all their things to the back so my award would be front and center.
I’ve never won anything else important enough to add to the shelf, so it’s sat there ever since, alone and gathering dust. But I’m feeling sick enough from the pressures of our show today. I can’t think about anything else.
“Five, six, seven, eight!” Faith calls.
We’re warming up at Twin Valley High School, and Faith is drilling us on a super difficult piece of choreography in our show.
Not only does it have two flat tosses, but also a backhand spin series that’s really tricky.
I’ve done it so many times now that it’s as easy as walking for me, which means I can rehearse while also letting my eyes wander back toward Max.
He looks so cute with his plumed hat on.
I can’t hear what he’s saying to the rest of his section, but I think he’s giving them a pep talk.
Unfortunately, this week has been just as hectic as last week, so we haven’t spent much more time together.
I’m anxious for today to be over for many reasons, but one of them is that I’ve decided we need to come clean with our sections after today.
I won’t say anything to Max now, but—barring another horrible competition like last time—I plan to tell him this evening.
I know he was hesitant before, but it’s been two weeks now and I want to spend the rest of our time in marching band together.
I’m sick of trying to pretend he doesn’t exist when all I really want to do is run over and give him a good-luck kiss on the cheek.
“Stop, hold up.” Faith waves her hands. “Not everyone was on count. Let’s try that again.”
I glance around, wondering who was off this time. Maybe Yori? She struggles with this part.
“Hazel, are you ready?” Faith says and lifts an eyebrow.
“Of course, I’m always ready.”
Callie snorts. “Then try being on count this time.”
I open my mouth to argue before realizing that Faith is nodding subtly. Oh my god. I squeeze my eyes shut and push everything else from my mind. I can think about Max after today’s performance, not before.
The rest of warm-ups goes smoothly, but I can feel Faith’s eyes lingering on me. When we take a break, she comes over to me directly.
“Is everything okay? You don’t seem like your usual self.”
“I’m fine. Ready for this afternoon.”
“Good. I need everyone to be on task today.” She nods her head and her blond ponytail flips around her neck.
“Seriously?” I mutter.
I know Faith is my color guard director, but right now all I can see is a girl barely older than me who blew off more rehearsals than she attended. I don’t think she’s in the position to be lecturing me on taking this seriously.
“What?” she asks with a frown.
“Nothing.”
“It seems like you have something you’d like to say.”
I huff out a breath. “Faith, you’ve barely been around.
I know you come for our games and competitions, but for the most part it’s just me.
And when you do come by, more often than not you’re bribing everyone to love you with treats and unearned compliments.
I’m sorry I was off count earlier, but I don’t think I deserve a lecture when I’ve been the one holding this group together. ”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I freeze in shock. I can’t believe I just said that. Yes, I’ve been frustrated, but I meant to stuff those emotions inside me, not spew them all over my color guard director right before the biggest competition to date.
Her face pales and I’m positive she’s about to tell me I’ll be standing on the sidelines rather than performing today. Instead, she slumps.
“You’re right,” she says quietly. “I know I haven’t been there for you like you needed.”
I shake my head. “No, Faith, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You’ve been great.”
She laughs sarcastically. “I haven’t been great.
I thought I could balance it all, but getting to the rehearsals with my job has been way harder than I expected.
Even when Sire asked me, I knew it was a bad idea, but I didn’t want to let everyone down.
The idea of Glen Vale without a guard…” She shakes her head sadly.
Her words throw me. “What are you talking about?”
“I was Sire’s last resort, and I mean last. He knew it was a bad fit, but neither of us wanted to take guard away from you all, so I tried to do my best. I’m sorry that you feel like I failed you.”
It takes me another few moments to fully process what she’s saying. We were that close to losing color guard altogether? I try to imagine it, but my heart lurches and I push the thoughts away. Instead, I throw my arms around her and pull her into a hug.
“I had no idea, Faith. And you didn’t fail us! We’re here and we’re going to kill it today, I promise.”
She hugs me back. “I know you will. Now go get the rest of your guard as pumped up as you are.”
I jog away, still in shock that there was a very real version of my life where I didn’t get to be in color guard at all this year.
I debate telling the others, but I don’t want to distract them right before we’re about to go on.
There will be time to do something for Faith later.
Now is the time to prove that it was worth keeping color guard around this year.
“Circle up, everyone!” I call. “Are we ready?”
I put my hand in the center of the circle and everyone else does the same. I start the chant, yelling as loud as I can.
“Show up!”
“Show out!”
“All in!”
“No doubt!”
“Glen Vale Guard!”
We give each other quick hugs, take deep breaths, and then get in line to march onto the Twin Valley football field.
“Glen Vale High School,” the disembodied voice of the announcer booms. “You may begin your warm-up and/or preplacement.”